Yet they were making the attempt to close the rift that time and circumstance had hollowed between them. As they sat in the comfort of the evening blaze, silent now, hands working adroitly, Nicole chose to look for the similarities, not the differences, and noted with some satisfaction that their hands were shaped alike. Moved alike. Louise’s hands were broader. More direct and solid in their approach to a task.
“Anne will be home this Sabbath,” Catherine cut through her thoughts with a sigh. “I cherish each of her visits.”
Nicole lifted her head.
“Soon she will be caring for a home of her own and the visits will be fewer. …” She paused and looked at Nicole. “I had wondered—have thought that it would be—I mean, would you be interested in visiting the meadow?”
She had Nicole’s complete attention. “Could we?”
“It’s not so far. I’d like to. Just the three of us.”
Nicole smiled. It would be hard to wait.
His Excellency the Viscount Charles, eighth earl of Sutton, adviser to His Royal Highness King George III, former member of the royal embassy to the court of His Majesty King Louis XIV of France, holder of the Royal Garter, royal magistrate for the counties of Devon and Somerset, rode wearily down the Fundy Trail. Instead of the gilded carriage and eight black Arabian stallions that normally transported him, he rode upon the scruffiest nag it was ever his displeasure to approach, much less mount.
Instead of advisers from the court of Saint James, for company he traveled with a group of itinerant carters taking a load of barrels into apple country. He had forsaken his dress of frills and silver buttons and peacock feathers and velvet; instead, he wore what the carters wore—breeches of buckskin, a white shirt tied shut at the neck, simple trail boots, a slouch hat, and a long woolen coat thrown open to let in the midday warmth.
Earlier that morning, the trail from Halifax had meandered inland, and now the sea was lost to all but his nostrils. All around him pines and hardwoods rose to towering heights, higher than the steeple of St. Paul’s. Instead of pealing church bells and choir, he listened to a sea breeze hum through the branches and birds sing a constant refrain to a summer too slow in coming, too swift in passing.
His sense of bafflement was not caused by his state or his companions. These he had chosen himself. While the governor of Halifax had been away on official business, the city had been seized by a frenzy of work unlike anything Charles had ever known in England’s balmier climes. Here, he learned, people worked while the weather permitted. August and September were the most important months for preparing shipments of furs and hardwoods and minerals and produce. Everyone involved in trade of any sort, and this seemed to be almost everyone in Halifax, worked day and night and day. Even now, when the world was blooming a thousand different hues and the forests and fields were alight with green and gold, winter was only a hairsbreadth away.
But Charles had not required the company of his peers for this jaunt inland, nor had he wanted an official escort back to Georgetown. Instead, he had gone to his banker and requested the company of trustworthy, trail-ready folk. The banker had taken in Charles’s simple seagoing attire, and the easy manner now set between the ship’s captain and Charles, and said simply, “You have had a good journey.”
Charles started to object, to say he had not completed his quest. But in truth he was no longer sure exactly what his chief objective was to be. So all he said was, “I am here because of Captain Dillon’s skill and that of his crew.”
“Lord Charles has proved himself to be a solid gentleman in the storm’s crush,” Captain Kedrick Dillon replied. “And, if I may be so bold as to add, a worthy mate to have at one’s side when the tides of time go against you.”
“I am deeply honored,” Charles said, inclining his head.
The banker looked from one man to the other and repeated, “A good voyage indeed.”
The banker lost no time in finding Charles a company of teamsters headed inland. Being a market town, Georgetown was a common enough stop, and no question was made of Charles’s desire to surround himself with protection against the uncertainties of the trail. Finding a horse was another matter entirely; no steed of worth or beauty could be had for any amount of gold. Charles had waved the banker’s apology aside and accepted the nag as simply another part of the journey’s mystery.
Now that the trail had curved back inland, the forest fell away in the graceful swiftness that was possible only in the highlands. A vista was revealed, one that reached toward an infinity of greens and blues. In the far distance, slender columns of smoke drifted upward. Charles squinted and thought he could make out the man-made needle of a church spire.
He prodded his horse and rode forward to the lead teamster’s wagon. “Good sir, is that Georgetown up ahead?”
The driver paused to spurt a brown stream of tobacco juice over the wagon’s side. He shifted the chaw from tongue to cheek and replied, “I ain’t your good sir, but you’ve pegged the town right enough. We should be there by midafternoon, unless we throw another wheel.”
“Then I shall bid you a pleasant journey onward and ride ahead alone.”
“All right, matey.” The teamster waved his whip handle in farewell. “Stick to the main trail and you can’t go wrong.”
Charles hid his smile at the offhand parting by lifting his hat. He spurred his horse, and the two moved down the trail at a commendable pace.
He did not know what he was going to say once he arrived at his brother’s house. Did not even know why he was hurrying so. But after a voyage of six months and one week, after crossing from England to Halifax, after journeying up and down the eastern coastline, after storms and frustrations and journeys into the mysteries and tragedies of life, he was finally coming to the end of the trail.
The closer he drew, the faster he urged his steed. The nag seemed to have caught the sense of destination, for it showed a greater turn of speed than Charles would have thought possible for such an ungainly beast. Hooves the size of plates drummed down the dusty trail. The swayed back rocked like a ship in heavy seas. Charles lowered his head almost to the rangy hide to keep from being knocked off by low branches. He gripped the reins with one hand and the mane with his other, and his heart raced in anticipation.
The outlying houses swept by in a flash. He made the turning at the church and up the narrow way. There was the familiar cottage and the fenced-in vegetable garden. Charles pulled hard on the reins. The horse halted with a snort and a stomping of its front hooves, as though regretting that its chase had come to an end. Charles slipped from its back, patting the neck in deep gratitude before looping the reins around the fence and opening the front gate.
His brother appeared in the doorway, clearly not surprised to see him. Andrew offered the same gentle smile and clear-eyed welcome as before, then moved forward to grip Charles in a fierce embrace. Only this time Charles was able to respond in kind, holding his brother close and tight, finding here in this moment an achievement of its own. He closed his eyes to the trail and the journey and the hardship, and gave himself over to the simple realization that here indeed was a homecoming.
“Charles, welcome, welcome, we have missed you so.”
“And I you, brother. And I you.” Charles released Andrew, pushed back a step, and said, “Elspeth, has she—”
“You know?”
Charles nodded. “Fancy that, will you. I’ve chased halfway to the other end of beyond, and all the time she was on her way here.” He stopped to shake his head. “Well, I can’t claim to have brought back your daughter. I’ve no credit on that score.”
“She has arrived, and that is by far what is most important,” Andrew responded. “How God brought her home is another matter entirely. We just thank Him that He did.” He paused, his hand resting on his brother’s dust-covered arm. “She goes by the name of Nicole now, but I suppose you already know that.” Andrew’s smile was tinged with regret. “She is not here. She has gone off with Catherin
e and Anne for a few days.”
Charles found the immediate disappointment tempered now by an even stronger sense of peace. As though somehow the goal he had sought was no longer the treasure he was after. He could not explain it better than that, not even to himself. For the moment it was enough to simply say, “Brother, I owe you a lifetime of apologies.”
Andrew’s gaze turned keen and more light-filled than was usual. He clasped his brother’s shoulders with one strong arm and led him inside. “Come. We must find you something to wash down the trail’s dust. Will you take cider?”
Charles pulled off his hat and tossed it to the bench by the window, then passed through the doorway and entered the simple country cottage. With the comfort he found from his brother’s arm laid upon his shoulders, it seemed to Charles that he was entering into the finest palace upon the face of the earth. “I should think a mug of cider would taste like the nectar of heaven itself.”
The telling of the journey’s events took them through the afternoon. Charles watched the shadows pace time’s passage across the wooden floor, and knew that even as he described the places and the people, from Louisiana bayous to the seminary in Boston, he still had not divulged the most significant encounter. Finally, as Andrew rose to prepare them some supper, Charles admitted to his brother, “You were right in what you said.”
Andrew looked up from where he was cutting strips of side meat. “I beg your pardon?”
“You predicted that the journey would be in search of more than just your daughter. You were right.” Charles halted, searching for the proper words. He could feel his mouth opening and closing, grasping for appropriate definitions. “These have been the hardest times of my entire life.”
“From what you have described,” Andrew replied, “I can well believe it.”
Charles looked over and added, “And the best.”
Andrew stood with knife in hand, the lowering sun illuminating him from behind.
Charles stared at the light as much as at his brother. “I found myself desiring what you had, and feeling poverty-stricken in the process.”
Andrew waited through a long moment before quietly asking, “And did you find it?”
“I … I believe so.”
“God has spoken to your heart?”
“He is trying.” Charles worked at a smile. “The stone of my heart is hard for Him to crack, I fear.”
Andrew solemnly shook his head. “Not for God. If He works slowly, it is only out of compassion and gentleness.”
Once again Charles had the sense of being rocked by truth. “I prayed. On the ship. Not during the storm but in the calm. I was pleased with that, how I did not fall to my knees when the ship was in the most peril. I waited until the quiet, when I could look at myself clearly, and come to God out of a need that was within me, rather than because of a need forced upon me from without.”
Andrew set down his knife, wiped his hands on a towel, and moved around the kitchen table. “I understand.”
“I do not say this out of pride. I think it was God’s hand at work in this, rather than my own choice.” He had the sense of realizing things as he spoke them, as though the clarity came through Andrew’s listening and not from his own power of speech. “If it had been a storm from without, once it had passed I could return to relying on my own strength. But in the quiet, I was forced to see how poor my life has been, how devoid of love and peace.”
“Charles …” Andrew turned away and stared at the light and the fading day. When he turned back, it was to walk over and take the seat beside his brother. “Could we pray together now?”
“I would be honored.” But he found a barrier there, something that needed to be said before he could bow his head in peace. “Andrew, brother, I went in search of your Elspeth for my own selfish reasons. There was no concern for you or your family, none whatsoever. My only desire was to find her so that I could take her from you once more. It was wrong—and I ask your forgiveness.”
Andrew reached over and gripped his arm. “Because of your words, brother, if she so chooses, I am now willing to let her go.”
Chapter 32
Nicole stopped in the middle of the trail to look back at Catherine. In unspoken agreement, she and Anne had shortened their strides to accommodate the older woman.
“It’s just up ahead, through that stand of trees,” Catherine panted lightly. “I didn’t remember that the climb was so steep.”
But when Anne stepped forward to swing back the branch blocking their entry, Catherine halted her by saying, “I think perhaps I need just a minute.” She stood still and shut her eyes, breathing deeply.
Nicole watched as Anne walked over and took Catherine’s hand. She understands her better than I, thought Nicole. She knows what Catherine is thinking. Feeling. Now if it were Mama …
The thought that had formulated into those words in her mind left her shaken. Since coming to Acadia she had been trying so hard, so very hard, to make Catherine into her mother. To make it feel right. To push aside the past, the circumstances, the loss, and the pain. But she could not do that by denying her other parent. She knew that now. For as long as she lived, deep in her very soul, she would think of Louise as her mother.
Catherine was opening her eyes, managing a trembling smile. “I’m ready now,” she said, but her voice was still shaky.
Anne did not release Catherine’s hand as she reached out again to push aside the tree limb. Catherine took a deep breath and passed through. Nicole silently followed. They took only a few steps, just enough to enter the meadow. Catherine reached for Nicole’s hand and the three stood, fingers interlocked, looking out at the scene before them.
“It has not changed,” murmured Catherine in a soft voice. “I was so afraid it would be different. That the spell of this place would be gone.”
Nicole let her eyes drift over the expanse of meadow grasses and small shrubs. Fall flowers carpeted the ground before her in lavish abandon. Tall trees bordered the enclosure except for the side open to the bay below. One lone fishing boat bobbed far away on the stillness of the afternoon waters. Overhead birds darted and called and dipped and rejoiced, one song mingling with another. Nicole held her breath, drinking in this moment.
“It was right over there that I first saw Louise. I remember it so vividly. I can even see the colors of her dress. So rich and vibrant. I almost envied her. I had to wear such drab things. And her eyes—I will never forget those eyes. Every now and then I catch the same expression in yours, Anne.”
It was a shared moment that felt to Nicole as if she had waited for it all her life.
“And look—berries. We both used to fill our baskets.” Catherine laughed. “Or our mouths,” she added. “We caught each other more than once with berry-stained lips.”
Catherine led them farther into the meadow.
“And over here,” she said, still holding the hands of the two daughters, “here is where Louise was picking the meadow flowers when we first met. I was by that little scrub bush. We were gathering wedding bouquets—though at first we did not know we were both at the same joyful task.”
Nicole closed her eyes and pictured a very young Louise, arms filled with flowers, a smile playing about her lips.
“And the log. I’m almost afraid to look for the log. It’s been such a long time. I fear that time and storms and insects may have reduced it to a pile of decay. But it was right over there—by that tall spruce.”
The two girls pulled her forward.
“It is still there.” Catherine’s little cry was one of sheer ecstasy. “Look—it has hardly changed over the years. Oh my.” The tears were falling now. She released the hands and moved forward, stroking the worn timber. “Oh my,” she said again. “The stories this old log could tell. We’d sit here and we’d talk and share and she’d tease me about my poor French and help me with the pronunciation. We read the Scriptures here—hour after hour. I got in trouble over that. One old village woman was bound to tattle. It g
ot your father in deep trouble too. I was sorry about that. That was the beginning of the end to Andrew’s military career.”
Nicole watched as Catherine’s eyes clouded and then cast aside the somber thoughts as she might a worn porch rug. “And this little hole—right here. Here is where we used to leave our messages for each other.” Catherine moved forward and put her hand into a hidden hollow of the log. “Oh, it makes me feel so close to Louise.”
Anne reached to pluck a flower that nodded beside her skirts. She drew it to her breast and clasped it with both hands. Her eyes were misty, and suddenly Nicole realized that here, in this meadow, the girl was meeting the mother she had never known. Without thinking about it, Nicole slipped an arm about the waist of the slender form. Her thoughts pictured two other young women sharing life, sharing fears, sharing dreams.
“And it was right here that we both cradled our babies, gave you one last kiss, and then exchanged our bundles. We didn’t know …” Her voice caught and she paused for a long moment. “How could we have known that it would not be for the few short days we had expected?”
Catherine was weeping now, and both daughters moved to her to offer their comfort. “Oh, if only Louise could be here,” she managed to say through her tears. “If only she could share this moment with us.”
“Momma—can we pray?” asked Anne with trembling voice.
For answer Catherine nodded and drew them both to the old log. They sat together, their skirts overlapping, their hands intertwined as tightly as their thoughts and feelings and prayers. It was Anne who began, and Nicole was surprised at the control of her voice.
“Our Father, the One who has formed us and loves us and directs our paths, thank you for this special time in this hallowed place. Thank you for the blessings you have given. Thank you for love in abundance. We have been blessed. Not cheated. Blessed. Be with Mother Louise. At this very moment, Lord, may she feel our love. And should it please you, Lord, may the day come when we can all be united together. Bound by blood and spirit. By love and joy. By common faith. For you are good—and you are faithful, and we love you for who you are and for what you have done. Amen.”
The Sacred Shore Page 21